Share this:

Like this:

Related

16 Responses

Sandi,
This was a great question and I’m following all the responses. Also this week, I starting listening to music again. I’m crying as the memories come to the surface and it actually feels better. I am guessing I was avoiding some of the pain, but that only brings more pain.
I am grateful for everyone’s response.

I have a playlist of the music my Dad listened to on Saturday mornings that I can pull up whenever I want. It was a household routine, and anytime I hear Patsy Cline, John Denver, The Eagles..we’re together again, in my living room, with all the time left in the world.

What a great query! I recommend a book: The Nature of Music: Beauty, Sound, and Healing by Maureen McCarthy Draper. Here’s a quote: “Initially, when grief is most acute you might need to allow the numbness with which the body protects itself from too much feeling. When the time comes that you’re ready to begin facing your emotions, music that speaks to your heart can help you begin to release your pain. And music that reminds you of a loved one brings to the surface whatever may have been unfinished or unsaid between you.”

She recommends specific music throughout her book. Chapters include The Heart of Listening, Singing Your Own Song, The Alchemy of Music, The Healing Power of Music, etc. …

I love this part of the quote, “allow the numbness with which the body protects itself from too much feeling.” I remember the early numbing. What a blessing. Indeed we should not only allow it but embrace it; hold tightly to it as long as it may last. Time enough for the pain which will eventually rise to the surface.

This is indeed an interesting question, and I’m so glad I can answer it from the position of the other side of the grief journey.

When our daughter first died, it was hard to avoid music that reminded me of her. Truth be told, I didn’t want to avoid reminders. I think there was something in my “I’ll get through this” determination that made me feel I should immerse myself in such things, no matter the pain. Perhaps there was a bit of the mindset – “just do it and get it over with”. Consequently, I spent many the car trips crying to CDs.

Over a decade later, I would say, “How foolish of me!” Why would I do anything to make my pain worse? If I had it to do over, I would not be so hard on myself, as I had nothing to prove in mourning my daughter. But I would admit to desiring some measure of control over the grieving process. I knew I didn’t want to be that person (or family) refusing to face reality to the point of shutting out life and the people who wanted to continue to be a part of it with me (us).

At this place in time, I’m better able to enjoy most of the music (movies, shops, restaurants) my daughter and I shared, and can do so with a happy heart and good memories. But I reserve the right to steer clear of a few things yet. There is one CD I may never play again in my lifetime as it’s sad on a good day.

I should make the case, I did many things right in the early days of grief. I knew when to say, “NO”, made sleeping and eating properly a priority, allowed myself talk therapy with loved ones, and avoided joining a support group where new grief (the fresh/raw version) might be a constant visitor for new members signing on. I still believe properly managed support groups (with good facilitators) are hard to come by. Consequently, one can make matters far worse without knowing it going in. There’s a very delicate balance between encouraging/productive support and making contact with many who,have no intention (albeit subconsciously for some) of moving forward.

When it comes to maneuvering through grief, it’s like walking around in a darkened room. We move along with hands feeling for walls and familiar furnishings, but invariably a toe will hit an unexpected object first, despite being shorter than extended arms. We simply can’t anticipate everything, so we do the best we can; using tools best suited to each of us. Maybe music will be one of them. Maybe not.

Robin,
Wonderful words of wisdom. Your illustration of walking around in the dark is absolutely perfect. Yes, I’ve stumbled many times and keep getting back up. I thought of how our eyes grow accustomed to the dark with time. Maybe the same with grief, the lights are still off, but we are managing to find our way in the dark.

I also appreciate your post for me and music. I plan to one day return to the music game. As a matter of fact, I have a helper now on my iPhone: Shazam! Ha!! I downloaded to help me learn songs and artist. I can see Sam smiling now at my “helper”.
Thank you Robin for your post – you bring so much comfort to me.

Especially when listening to worship, the lyrics speak to me of my Father and Jesus … when words do not come forth from within, I listen and hear those unspoken words in the lyrics affirming me that the Spirit is talking to me. I’ve always been an Elvis fan and his music takes me back to simplier days.

“Simpler days” resonates with me, Heather. My husband and I believe, in general (with/without grief), life is far too complicated. Sadly, we tend to bring it upon ourselves as we get older, acquiring this, that or the other something. One of the greatest lessons to come from our loss was the realization we could get by with far less. What truly matters in life is more readily and clearly defined after the death of a child or spouse. God bless you as you continue the healing process.

Sandi,
What a great question and I am curious to see how everyone responds. Sam loved music and we played this game in the car with the radio..he would ask me the title of the song and the artist. Well, I am horrible with music so the game was like an exam. Sam would give me clues and then we would both end up laughing at my “musical impairment”. The first year of my grief music was healing for me. So many songs reminded me of Sam and I would cry or sob to the music. Some time during the second year it all changed, and sadly I am not able to listen to the radio or music as I did in the beginning. I ride in my car with silence most days and talk to God or Sam.
My boys are gone to college and I am left with their Honda CRV (230,000 miles) to maintain. My oldest took over responsibility for this car when he was 17 and made a rule – NO air conditioning in the car. Ha! He’s the thrifty one in the family. So in the past month I have been tooling around with the windows down and the radio on! Yes, for some reason listening to the radio in my boys’ car is comforting. I have to turn the music up loud to drown out the wind rushing through the open window and in this place I am peaceful.
Music carries a memory of a place and time. Most of us can remember what we were doing or where we were when a song is played. For me, there are so many songs of country, rock, or gospel that trigger memories of many wonderful people and events in my life. Music can take us back to a place and I am still missing that place with all my heart.

Jenny, I couldn’t help but smile as I read your description of the music game you enjoyed with Sam. The silence in your car now is not all bad. Perhaps it means you feel more comfortable being alone (quiet) with your thoughts. IN a year or two, you may start playing the game again – challenging yourself as Sam would – searching your mind for artists and titles. Or maybe you won’t. Either way, you’ll always have this wonderful memory of time with your sweetie.

Jenny,
I would guess you feel closer to your boys when you listen to the radio in their car?
Your not being able to listen to music for awhile in the second year, reminds me of how I couldn’t walk the beach the second year, after doing it so much the first year.

"Words of wisdom from those who have had to walk through grief: be gracious/patient/forgiving when we forget appointments, change our minds at the last minute, don't return phone calls, act a lil' crazy."
Kelly Schleyer Powers

"You do not work through bereavement. It works through you."
Virginia Ironside,
'You'll Get Over It'-The Rage of Bereavement

"There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief...and unspeakable love."
Washington Irving

"I wish you would've told me," she said, "that losing you would be like losing my life."
...taken from author, Mary De Muth's novel, The Muir House.

"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds."
Psalm 147:3

"In a world rocky with human failure, there is a land lush with divine mercy. Your Shepherd invites you there. He wants you to lie down. Nestle deeply until you are hidden, buried, in the tall shoots of his love, and there you will find rest."
...Max Lucado,Traveling Light